"As I said, I just wanted to be clear."
"Mrs. Grey, I sincerely apologize if you think . . . I have - " She stops, still floundering for something to say.
"Good. As long as we understand each other, we'll be fine. Now, I'll let you know what we have in mind for the master suite, then I'd like a run down on all the materials you intend to use. As you know, Christian and I are determined that this house should be ecologically sustainable, and I'd like to reassure him as to where all the materials are coming from and what they are."
"Of course," she stutters, wide-eyed and frankly a little intimidated by me. This is a first. My inner goddess runs around the arena, waving to the frenzied crowd.
Gia pats her hair into place, and I realize this is a nervous gesture.
"The master suite?" she prompts anxiously, her voice a breathless whisper. Now that I have the upper hand, I feel myself relax for the first time since my meeting with Christian this afternoon. I can do this. My inner goddess is celebrating her inner bitch.
Christian joins us just as we are finishing up.
"All done?" he asks. He puts his arm around my waist and turns to Gia.
"Yes, Mr. Grey," Gia smiles brightly, though her smile looks brittle.
"I'll have the revised plans to you in a couple of days."
"Excellent. You're happy?" he asks me directly, his eyes warm and probing. I nod and blush for some reason that I don't understand.
"I'd better be going," Gia says again too brightly. She offers her hand to me first this time, then to Christian.
"Until next time, Gia," I murmur.
"Yes, Mrs. Grey. Mr. Grey."
Taylor appears at the entrance of the great room.
"Taylor will see you out." My voice is loud enough for him to hear. Patting her hair once more, she turns on her high heels and leaves the great room, followed closely by Taylor.
"She was noticeably cooler," Christian says, looking quizzically at me.
"Was she? I didn't notice." I shrug, trying to remain neutral. "What did Taylor want?" I ask partly because I'm curious and partly because I want to change the subject.
Frowning, Christian releases me and begins to roll up the plans on the table. "It was about Hyde."
"What about Hyde?" I whisper.
"It's nothing to worry about, Ana." Abandoning the plans, Christian draws me into his arms. "It turns out he hasn't been in his apartment for weeks, that's all." He kisses my hair, then releases me and finishes his task.
Oh.
"So what did you decide on?" he asks, and I know it's because he doesn't want me to pursue the Hyde line of inquiry.
"Only what you and I discussed. I think she likes you," I say quietly.
He snorts. "Did you say something to her?" he asks and I flush. How does he know? At a loss what to say, I stare down at my fingers.
"We were Christian and Ana when she arrived, and Mr. and Mrs. Grey when she left." His tone is dry.
"I may have said something," I mumble. When I peek up at him he's regarding me warmly, and for an unguarded moment he looks . . . pleased. He drops his gaze, shaking his head, and his expression changes.
"She's only reacting to this face." He sounds vaguely bitter, disgusted even.
Oh Fifty, no!
"What?" He's bemused by my perplexed expression. His eyes grow wide in alarm. "You're not jealous, are you?" he asks, horrified. I flush and swallow, then stare down at my knotted fingers. Am I?
"Ana, she's a sexual predator. Not my type at all. How can you be jealous of her? Of anyone? Nothing about her interests me." When I glance up, he's gaping at me as if I've grown an additional limb. He runs a hand through his hair. "It's only you, Ana," he says quietly. "It will only ever be you."
Oh my. Abandoning the plans once more, Christian moves toward me and clasps my chin between his thumb and forefinger.
"How can you think otherwise? Have I ever given you any indication that I could be remotely interested in anyone else?" His eyes blaze as he stares into mine.
"No," I whisper. "I'm being silly. It's just today . . . you . . ." All my conflicting emotions from earlier resurfaces. How can I tell him how confused I am? I've been confounded and frustrated by his behavior this afternoon in my office. One minute he wants me to stay at home, the next he's gifting me a company. How am I supposed to keep up?
"What about me?"
"Oh, Christian" - my bottom lip trembles - "I'm trying to adapt to this new life that I had never imagined for myself. Everything is being handed to me on a plate - the job, you, my beautiful husband, who I never . . . I never knew I'd love this way, this hard, this fast, this . . . indelibly." I take a deep steadying breath, as his mouth drops open.
"But you're like a freight train, and I don't want to get railroaded because the girl you fell in love with will be crushed. And what'll be left? All that would be left is a vacuous social x-ray, flitting from charity function to charity function." I pause once more, struggling to find the words to convey how I feel. "And now you want me to be a company CEO, which has never even been on my radar. I'm bouncing between all these ideas, struggling. You want me at home. You want me to run a company. It's so confusing." I stop, tears threatening, and I force back a sob.
"You've got to let me make my own decisions, take my own risks, and make my own mistakes, and let me learn from them. I need to walk before I can run, Christian, don't you see. I want some independence. That's what my name means to me." There, that's what I wanted to say this afternoon.